


a burden to bear, a burden shared

by Arcane_Apparition



Series: OTP: Gentle Giants [5]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Nate’s hurt and needs some tlc, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcane_Apparition/pseuds/Arcane_Apparition
Summary: Four weeks.An entire month since Abby had last seen Nate. He’d been sent out of the country for a mission that was only supposed to be two weeks, at most. A mission that, apparently, outranked her clearance level to know any specifics about. He was somewhere in Europe, and he was needed for negotiations, research, and translations, is all she’d been told.A month. And she’d only heard from him a handful of times.(A mission Nate is sent on goes south, and Abby is there to take care of him in the aftermath)
Relationships: Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Series: OTP: Gentle Giants [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042041
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	a burden to bear, a burden shared

Four weeks.

An entire month since Abby had last seen Nate. He’d been sent out of the country for a mission that was only supposed to be two weeks, at most. A mission that, apparently, outranked her clearance level to know any specifics about. He was somewhere in Europe, and he was needed for negotiations, research, and translations, is all she’d been told. 

A month. And she’d only heard from him a handful of times. Wherever he was, wherever he’d been sent, was isolated enough that cell services were spotty. Everything about this mission made her antsy - anxiously pacing, checking her phone. Checking with the others. It was weeks of being trapped in a whirlwind of worry, unable to do much else besides think about him. 

What if he got hurt? He’d been sent with other agents, a different group. This was supposed to be simple - _not a month, only two weeks at most_ \- and they didn’t want to leave Wayhaven unprotected. To leave Maeve and Abby unguarded, not with the Trappers bounties looming over them. 

Nate is strong. Smart. Capable. She knows this. And yet, knowing that did nothing to quell the fear.

Then, the few and far between messages stopped entirely by the end of the third week. 

The silence wore on them all, putting the rest of them on edge. Farah did her best to keep a brave face, to smile and lighten the room whenever possible, but it was obvious she was putting on a face for them. Her own worries, and the worries of everyone else, weighed heavy in her eyes whenever she thought no one was looking. 

Morgan’s temper was short - shorter than usual, even with Maeve by her side. A piece of her family was missing, and the stress was wearing on her. More time on the roof, more cigarettes just to keep her hands busy.

Ava was stony, stoic in a way they had never seen her. Either making calls -to Rebecca, to other agents, to anyone that could give them _answers_ \- or destroying training dummies in the gym. 

It’s Rebecca that finally calls them all into the common room, to fill them in. When Abby felt as if the ground had tilted beneath her feet. 

_‘The mission...failed. The treaty fell through. No information on what set the group off. There were some casualties. Nate was hurt, but he’s recovering and set to be on a plane back.’_

_There were casualties_

_Nate was_

_Hurt._

Abby didn’t sleep for a full 24 hours after the meeting. 

The others checked in -quiet, careful around her. None tried to make any sort of conversation, aware that she was too lost to give more than one-worded answers.

(Farah gave her sad smiles. Hugs and quiet promises of ‘he’s okay’ and ‘we’ll be alright’)

She wished they worked. She wished the reassurances eased her worries.

She’s in his room when he finally comes home, late into the evening. She’d taken to staying in his rather than her own - being surrounded by pieces of _him_ provided at least a small bit of comfort. Made the loneliness a little less all-consuming. 

He comes to her like a ghost. 

She stands from her seat at the desk as soon as the door opens - she’d been trying to read, trying to give herself something to focus on besides the clock hands that didn’t seem to be moving fast enough, waiting for him to come back. 

He looks - two dimensional. There, but not, almost terrifyingly hollow. His hair is a mess, clothes wrinkled, clearly the same ones he’d been wearing for some time now. 

He looks _exhausted_ , worn too thin. Her heart aches at the sight.

Still, she hovers where she’s standing, almost too afraid to approach him. As if, by breaking the silence of the room, he’d vanish into thin air. 

Dropping the bag slung over his shoulder with a dull thud, his eyes finally focus a little, finally coming to the _here_ and _now_ , and he smiles at her -(it’s a strained gesture, too heavy to be genuine, something for her sake rather than his). His voice is airy, a whisper nearly lost in the space between them. “Hello.”

With the trance now broken, she’s across the room in just a few strides. Throwing her arms around his neck with a shaky laugh, it’s less of a hug and more of her just crashing into him; she tries, tries to be mindful of how unsteady he seems, how he sways on the spot, but the urge to hold onto him and never let go is overwhelming. “Nate,” She tests his name, sighs it into his shoulder, as if seeing if this was all real. He’s hugging her back with just as much force, as if he’s trying to lose himself in her. “I was so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry,” His voice is muffled, head tucked into her neck. He sounds so _small_ , fragile and uneven. Splinters - spiderweb cracks in glass, and she’s terrified he’s close to shattering. 

“Don’t be,” She draws back, just far enough to be able to look at him, only as far as either of them are willing to be apart. Runs her hands up his sides, along his shoulders, finally coming up to cup his cheeks. Her eyes sting, but she does her best to will the tears away, instead trying to focus entirely on him. Him, alive and here again. Reaching up, she brushes his hair from his face, watching as his eyes flutter closed, leaning into the touch. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Nate signs then, breathing heavily through his nose. He doesn’t open his eyes, and she doesn’t push him to. Not when she can see how clenched his jaw is, or the way his brows are pinched. Heavy thoughts are hanging over him like storm clouds, threatening to drag him under.

One hand still holding his hair away, she brushes a thumb along the deep wrinkle between his brows, a small effort to try and smooth it. “Let me help,” She whispers, tracing his cheek, his jaw. _Safe, he’s safe_. Running through her mental checklist of what she can do, what needs to be done. “Let me take care of you.”

With his hand in hers, she guides him towards his bathroom. 

She flips the light on, keeping the dimmer as low as possible, more for the sake of his eyes than her own, before letting go and heading towards the bathtub. She’d teased him once about his, in her opinion, overly extravagant bathtub. Something large, old-styled - a claw-footed tub she hated thinking about how awful it must’ve been hauling into the Warehouse. But now, as she’s turning the water on and getting the temperature right, she’s grateful for it. 

As the tub begins to fill, she turns to find Nate still standing where she’d left him. He’s unfocused again, eyes miles away, drifting off. She takes deliberately careful steps until she’s in front of him, giving him a gentle smile. With the better lighting in the bathroom, she can see just how exhausted he really looks now - dark circles under his eyes, looking almost like heavy bruises. She knew he didn’t _need_ to sleep much, but also knew it wasn’t good for him to go days without rest. 

Taking a hold of the edges of his jacket, she tugs lightly to get his attention. “May I?” He blinks, before finally nodding.

They’re quiet as she helps him undress, the only sounds in the room the running water and their own breaths. It’s comfortably intimate, carefully peeling the layers away, folding them and setting them on the nearby counter with care. They’d need to be washed, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. Nate, and his lost expression, is her only focus right now. 

Bare from the waist up, her hands wander again. It’s more out of habit and for her own peace of mind - _he’s really, truly home_ \- than anything else. It’s during this impromptu check-over that she sees the bruises mottling his right side, terrifyingly dark even in the low light of the bathroom. 

“Nate.” The air feels knocked from her lungs, his name a rushed whisper. She traces the yellowing edges with a featherlight touch, trying to see how far it went. 

He takes her hand, holding it limply to his side. “It’s alright. It’s healing.” He’s tense, in voice and posture now, clearly ending the conversation before it can start. Again, she doesn’t push any further. She doesn’t - _can’t_ dwell on the thought of what caused such a wound. That with his healing ability, for the bruise to still be so visible, points to the fact that his ribs had likely been broken at one point. If she dwells on that, the sting in her eyes and the lump in her throat gets harder to push aside. So, she brings herself back to the now. He’s here, and he needs her.

She only leaves him when she realizes the tub is nearing full, going to turn the tap off while he finishes undressing. He just kicks the rest of his clothes off to the side, clearly not having the energy to deal with them. 

“Go ahead, the water should be fine.” She whispers, touching his arm as she passes, grabbing his jeans and folding them for him as he goes and gets in the tub. He’s still tense, hands curling and gripping the edge of the tub, even as she comes over and settles on her knees behind where he’s leaning. 

She’s gently gathering up his hair when he finally breaks the silence that had fallen over them again, quiet and tired. “You don’t need to do all this, love.”

“I know,” And she does. She knows she doesn’t have to dote over him like this, “I want to though, as long as you’re okay with it. I can- I’ll leave, if you want me to.” She’d understand if he didn’t want her there, if he wanted space right now. It wouldn’t be _easy_ , but she wouldn’t impose on him. 

“Don’t,” His answer is rushed, almost panicked, and her chest aches. “Please, don’t go.”

So, she doesn’t. She shuffles around, grabbing what she’d need - his hairbrush, first. Something wooden with boar’s hair bristles, heavy and expensive and entirely _him_. Slowly, gently, she starts to work it through his hair. It’s long, longer than the last time she’d seen him, and it’s an almost unruly mess of knots and curls. He’d not been dealing with it while he was away, probably just tying it up again and again to keep it out of his face. She tries to be careful, working from the ends up, she does what she can to keep from tugging too hard, and any tug is followed by a soft apology and a kiss to the top of his head.

After she’s done and she can brush her fingers through it without snagging, she’s shuffling around again to gather his hair products. Multiple steps, all expensive, and some with labels she doesn’t understand. Another habit of his she’d lovingly teased him about. She’d called it all excessive, at one point, when he managed to talk her into allowing him to wash her hair with his own products. It was a long standing battle between them: she thought anything beyond a single step was too much effort, and he hated her cheap shampoo that she kept filling with water to get as much use out of as possible - a battle she _lost_ , since her own shampoo had mysteriously vanished from his shower when she left it there.

Still, while she might not understand all the labels, she knew the routine, unintentionally memorizing it. Just as she knew how he preferred his tea, and he knew how she took her coffee. A little piece of him she carried in her mind. 

Actually washing his hair is a slower process now, seeing as there’s so much of it to deal with. The quiet blanket over the room interrupted only by soft requests, ‘ _lean up_ ’ and ‘ _tilt your head back for me_ ’. Working the shampoo through, her fingers rub his scalp, earning a quiet hum from him that has her smiling. Conditioner is after, then an oil that leaves her hands slick and smelling of something almost like cinnamon. 

It isn’t until the oil is left to sit that she scoots over, moving into his line of sight, resting her chin on the lip of the tub. He’s watching her, expression hard to read in the dim light.

“Hello.” His voice is a low mumble, not as strained but still so tired. She smiles, idly trailing her fingers down his cheek.

“Hey.”

“Thank you, _habibi_. You didn’t have to go through all this,” She thinks there’s a tug of guilt in his voice, even though he’s smiling -a weak, shadow of one, but a real smile nonetheless. “I don’t mean to have you fretting over me.”

“You do enough fretting for the both of us, it’s only fair I get to take care of you every once in a while.” Her teasing earns her a soft laugh, gentle kisses to the tips of her fingers, still settled on his cheek. She doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to break the bubble of comfort over them, but worry still weighs heavily on her mind. “Do you...want to talk about it?”

He sighs, shaking his head before taking her hand in his own wet one. “I don’t.” Intertwines their fingers, pressing a kiss to each of her knuckles. He’s deflecting, she recognizes the pattern now. Avoids subjects he doesn’t want to dwell on with affection. It doesn’t ease her worry, but she doesn’t push him, certain that he’ll open up when he feels comfortable.

(It will eat at her until then, she also knows this. Her Nate, with his bleeding heart and a penchant to want to help everyone. Whatever happened will loom, following him like a shadow - whatever loss and death he saw will not leave him, and all she can do is hope he’ll share the burden with her some day)

Instead, she just uses her free hand to trace the gentle slope of his nose. Down, up, and down again, until he’s scrunching his face and smiling again, until she’s smiling too. “Let’s get your hair rinsed.”

This is faster than washing had been - it only takes a few minutes to rinse the rest of the product from his hair, and after she grabs a few towels for him, leaving him to dry off. 

Getting ready to lay down is a familiar routine, a comfortable song and dance for them by now. A single set of his pajamas: the pants for him, the shirt for her to steal. Their rhythm is only interrupted by the quiet exchange of words, stolen kisses. Neither drifting far from the other for long, being drawn together once more. 

(She offers to help with his hair for the night, tie it up somehow so it won’t bother him, but he turns her down with another kiss, a murmur of ‘I’d rather just rest’)

In bed, she draws him to her without a word, and he gladly takes his place at her side (a place that had been too empty for too long). With his head on her chest and his arms around her, they become a comfortable tangle of limbs. She’s hugging him, probably a little tighter than necessary - _he’s home and safe and her’s once more_ \- running her fingers through his still-damp hair. 

Almost immediately, any lingering tension drains from him, relaxing in her hold. His voice is low, already getting heavier, and she knows her concerns about his lack of sleep were valid ones. “I love you,” She feels him grip her shirt, as if to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere, “Thank you, again, for...everything.” 

She wants to promise that she isn’t going anywhere. That he’s safe, that she’ll be here to chase any night terrors away. That she won’t let him go. But the words don’t come, because she can’t make those promises, not truly, no matter how much she wishes she could. The nightmares will still come, she can only be there for comfort after the fact - the balm to an ache he won’t share with her. She can’t promise to never let him go, just as he can’t make that promise to _her_ , not with the lives they lead. 

So, instead she settles for pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you too,” Another kiss, as close to his forehead as she can manage with their position, “Sleep, _a chuisle_.”

It isn’t long before his breathing is steady and slow, leaving her to silently watch the ceiling well into the rest of the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to come yell abt these vamps with me on tumblr @agentnatesewells—manbun


End file.
